Chapter One
of Less Than Three

(Sam's POV)

I sat at the computer, once again, staring at the screen. It showed a blank email, already addressed to Danny Fenton. The little indicator-thingy blinked rapidly, amusing me. I fiddled with the edge of the mouse-pad. You know, that one with the picture of Tucker, Danny, and me at the last Halloween party at our school, last October. My hippie costume contained a ton of pink, red, and green streaks in my hair, too much lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner, and that freaky tie-dyed shirt and skirt that Danny and Tucker had just a few minutes earlier.

Tucker was dressed up as a couch potato, not at all taking the phrase a little too seriously. Haha, did you get that? I used sarcasm in the last part of the sentence. He wore shorts and – get this – an actual potato sac! And for the couch part, he attached a foam "chair" to his butt. It was hysterical.

Then, there was Danny. What was his costume, may you ask? Well, he was a beach bum. Complete with the swim trunks (and no shirt!), hair in a funny-looking ponytail (that he and his sister had spent hours doing that simple ponytail), and the paper made imitation of a beer. To tell you the truth, that Halloween party was one of the first ones I actually enjoyed. It was very amusing to watch Tucker and Danny attempt to dance, with the punch being spiked and all. By Dash, too! And they had, at least, six drinks every hour. So, Tucker and Danny were on the dance floor looking like drunks. Tucker was the only one who was on the dance floor looking like an idiot – except for Danny who always looked like an idiot. No offense! Not that he can read this, or anything… Anyway, back to the story.

I clicked around the computer for a few minutes, trying to decide whether to actually write him the email or not. I mean, yeah, I knew that he wouldn't even know that I had sent it. (I made up an email address just for this purpose. I know what you're thinking, but shut up anyway.) But, just the thought of writing this email scared the crap out of me. I mean, for the first time in my life, I would have been able to tell him how I feel. And with him not knowing I even said it, too! I mean, it was a win-win situation. But I was too much of a coward to do it.

Finally, gathering up the courage – in, oh, about three hours – I typed those three words: I love you. Then, I was like, "Why say it so frankly?" to myself. Why be so bold and take this chance a little too far? Then I backspaced and rephrased the statement: I heart you. "There we go," I smiled to myself. "Much better." And with another thought, my smile faded away and turned into a smile. I heart you? That sounded like a second-grader statement. "I sound so immature!" I angrily thought to myself as I angrily pounded the backspace button. The indicator-thingy continued to blink as I gazed into space, trying to figure out the right thing to type. I love you was too frank and-slash-or bold. I heart you sounded too ridiculous and babyish. I wanted to tell him without actually telling him. You know what I mean? I wanted the boy to – for once in his life – think!

I placed my chin in my hands, my elbows equally propped up underneath them. I closed my eyes and searched for the right way to say that I loved him. Not to sound like a hopeless romantic, but I actually did love him. I knew everything about him and how he acts and what he expects in life and what he doesn't. I needed him to complete my life and I knew he needed me – whether he knew that or not. Wait… I do sound like a hopeless romantic. Haha!

You know how people draw those hearts? Well, I started to wonder how they drew them on the computer screen. You know, the hearts in the back of the notebook and in the binder and in the diary? Well, how do you do that on a computer? I minimized my email and clicked onto another file. I searched for the email that my cousin had sent me a few days ago. When I got to it, I smiled to myself and inspected how to do exactly that. After a few seconds, I turned back to my email and copied the simple message to Danny. I (less than sign)3 you. But then, I was like, "Oh… That's too childish, too!" I hammered the backspace – for the millionth time – then sat there, stumped. Everything I did was "too childish." Or so it seemed. What would be the right balance?

Then it came to me. I swiftly molded my hands to the keyboard and typed those five words. These words said what I needed them to say, but they were in a code… sort of… I looked at the screen and smiled victoriously. I less than three you. "Very good, very good." I was greatly pleased with myself. I had finally accomplished my goal.

I modified the font, the size, the color, the color of the background, then made sure he wouldn't be able to tell it was me who sent the message (because I would be so embarrassed if Danny knew). When I was finally finished, I read through the very simple message once more (I less than three you) then moved the mouse to the top of the page. I breathed in, and pressed send.

Then I had a panic attack.

Oh my God. Did I actually do that? Oh my…Oh…Oh God… Did I? Did I press send?! Did I actually type that?! And I pressed send. Oh great. Oh…Oh God…Oh great. Jeez. I rapidly pressed the cancel at least twenty times. Like so:

Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click!
Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click – Click!

Wait… Make that twenty-one.

"Did it stop?" I wondered out loud as I watched the screen intensely, waiting to see what would happen.

"Your message has been canceled. Thank you for your services."

I breathed in deeply before being able to breathe at all again. I did all that work for nothing. I sat at the computer for five hours, wondering how to tell him… And then I didn't even send it.

I was a chicken; I was a coward.

And dang proud of it.